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Love Among The Artists

02 Jan 2015 - Mister Motley

Dear reader,I am not a professional liar; I am even ashamed of the extent to which in my human infirmity I have been an amateur one.Will you allow me a word of personal explanation now that I am, for the first time, offering you a show which is not the outcome of my maturer experience and better sense?

When I invite you to come to see the show ”Love Among the Artists” to the bitter end, you will not accuse me of mock modesty when I admit that it is a very full house, that it did not introduce you to a single person you could conceivably have been glad to know: Tom, Eleanor, John, Dana, Ciarán, Julika, Emily and Giles from London, Alex from Paris, Bettina from Berlin and Laure. Their shared a vicinity that was balancing between love and hate... It was the strangest site yet familiar. A penis vase. A film about a father. Some cat nip ball. Somebody dancing on bird feathers. Some of us turning into birds. Some peculiar Hague assemble. The bathroom we improved. A long table where we sat, ate and drank and told stories as the light went through us. To finally bury the reminiscence of the broken pieces and the memories of time together in the garden of a house that will vanish after us and only remain in memory...Please do trust me this time that it's for you that we made all this and that we are waiting for you. Your knowledge of the world must have forewarned you that no satisfactory ending is possible.